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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975074">Rehabilitation</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassdemons/pseuds/glassdemons'>glassdemons</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Bosmer Named Nerevar [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:08:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,110</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28975074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassdemons/pseuds/glassdemons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <b>Neither blight nor age can harm him. The Curse-of-Flesh before him flies.</b>
</p><p>Tel Fyr has gained a humanitarian purpose in the modern day, and its owner might even be considered a philanthropist, if you could ignore everything about him, though when one of Divayth's "patients" survives a potential cure, he allows himself a moment to put aside the armor, literal and metaphorical.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Bosmer Named Nerevar [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2125314</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Rehabilitation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he had first come to, it was dark. There were pale blurs, racing by, shrieking as they passed, charging at each other. A dark figure overcame them, standing over him, prodding him with some sort of staff. Nerevar looked up at the form, and felt his vision slip away once more.</p><p>The second time he awoke, there were two of the black beings. One was heavily armored. A daedra. The thought that he should defend himself crossed his mind as a mere suggestion as it leaned down with its beaked face, shutting out all light, and he felt his consciousness slip away again.</p><p>The third time Nerevar stirred, it was in a bed. He blinked open his hazy eyes and found that he was wrapped up in warm blankets. Cotton, he thought, not the furs of home. Home. He knew where home was. He fell back against soft, plush pillows with a quiet groan. Everything ached. His sense of smell was hardly intact, but still, there was something different in the air. Not the sickly sweet scent of decay like before. Food. Real food. He pushed himself up, rubbing at his eyes, to find a mug of steaming soup sitting beside the bed on a gnarled wooden table. He reached out with shaking hands, and fell into the pillows, asleep once more.</p><p>It was some time later when light met his eyes for the fourth time, a wooden spoon being pulled from his mouth. He couldn’t quite grasp his positioning, how he was sitting, until he realized he was being held, a napkin gently wiping away the soup he didn’t swallow. He slouched against the stranger. “Who…?” he whispered.</p><p>“Divayth Fyr. You’re safe here.”</p><p>He closed his eyes, struggling to remember, as he was fed again. Fyr. Fyr. Tel Fyr. The girl at the door. The dwarf below.</p><p><i>Below.</i> Had he been below? The corprusarium? </p><p>No. He would’ve had to have had corprus for that.</p><p>Another spoonful.</p><p>“You’re a miracle, you know that?” Divayth said, voice gentle. “You’re in recovery. You’re the <i>first one</i> in recovery.”</p><p>“Sick?” was all he managed to get out of his mouth, throat dry and cracking.</p><p>“Sick,” he repeated. “But you’re getting better. You’re getting so much better! We found you on my doorstep a few weeks ago, clinging to some dwarven metal. And now, here you are.”</p><p>Nerevar couldn’t process where ‘here’ was. “Where?”</p><p>“This is my bedroom. I’ve been taking care of you myself, monitoring your improvement.”</p><p>Nerevar slouched backwards into Divayth’s arms so he could look up at him, rather than be held tightly against his chest for stability as he was fed. His stomach was cramping for want of food, but after the guild had sent him to see this man so many times, only to be answered by those that were him a bit to the left, a bit to the right…</p><p>“Fyr,” he breathed, squinting to focus.</p><p>“Yours truly.” He cracked a small smile.</p><p>He touched Divayth’s weathered grey skin, as gently as he could manage, and could see on his hands where his sores were healing over. Divayth allowed him to stroke his cheek for a moment before pulling Nerevar back against his chest. “Come, now. There will be time for that later.”</p><p>He was so warm. Nerevar’s head rolled onto him, and he fell back into the darkness.</p><p>Light. Divayth was sitting at the edge of the bed, reading aloud, occasionally glancing over to see if Nerevar was reacting to what he said.</p><p>Dark.</p><p>Light. Divayth was curled in on himself on the other side of the bed. It was cold. Nerevar slid closer to get his share of the blankets before he froze to death instead.</p><p>Dark.</p><p>Light. Divayth was feeding him. It was mashed yams. It needed a bit more seasoning.</p><p>Dark.</p><p>Light. Alfe was changing the bedding.</p><p>Dark.</p><p>Light. Divayth was washing his face.</p><p>Dark.</p><p>Light. Nerevar was alone. His head was spinning, and his body trembled with the effort, but he pushed himself upright, looking around the room that seemed to breathe and swirl. He swung one leg out of the bed, fighting down nausea, and then the other. Carefully, slowly he stood, leaning on first the nightstand, and then the wall. The doorframe. The hall.</p><p>He shuffled more than walked towards a chamber that had a steady flow of magic. He looked up. There seemed to be rooms cut out of it. He looked down. The same below. He stepped into the chamber, and drifted downwards, slowly, gently, like he was being carried. He stepped into what appeared to be a kitchen. At the counter, Divayth stood, humming quietly to himself as he chopped vegetables, a large pot of water simmering beside him on the stove.</p><p>Nerevar fell forward, catching himself on the doorway. Divayth’s ear twitched, and then he turned, confusion melting away to delight. “Look at you!” he exclaimed, hurrying to help Nerevar back upright. </p><p>“Look at me,” he wheezed.</p><p>“I suppose I’ll need to start helping you build your strength back, won’t I? Can’t have you getting bored.”</p><p>Nerevar wondered for a moment what it was like to have the energy to be bored. He slumped against Divayth, who helped him walk a slow lap around the kitchen, and then carried him back to bed.</p><p>Dark.</p><p>Light. Divayth was washing him again. His hair was wet and he was shivering despite the warming pans around him, steaming from the hot water they contained.</p><p>“Why are you doing all of this?” he croaked.</p><p>“I am not a superstitious man,” Fyr responded, pausing to look him in his clearing eyes, “but I’m afraid that you’re going to make me one.”</p><p>“How am I still alive?”</p><p>“I gave you and a few others a potion. I had hoped that it would remove all the symptoms, stop the spread of it, even if it didn't cure you entirely. The others died within the first few doses.”</p><p>Nerevar blinked. Divayth pulled the blankets back over him. </p><p>“You’re going to be fine in another week. I’m going to see to that.”</p><p>“You’re poisoning me.”</p><p>“I’m saving your life. You’ll thank me for this later, Meniv.”</p><p>“Nerevar,” he whispered.</p><p>“Oh, I know you are.”</p><p>“But my parents named…”</p><p>Dark.</p><p>Light. Nerevar was curled up on top of Divayth, and he was reading aloud to him again. The pans from earlier had been replaced with bags filled with hot sand. Nerevar pressed against him, seeking even more warmth, looking for security.</p><p>Divayth put an arm around him to pull him closer, and continued to read.</p><p>It was quite some time before the world fell dark again.</p>
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